


our noses have begun to rust

by fits_in_frames



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-04
Updated: 2007-09-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1557641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fits_in_frames/pseuds/fits_in_frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the next week, whenever something goes wrong with the car--a piece falls out from underneath, or something explodes out of the hood, or a thousand other things that Sam can't even begin to imagine--Dean comes to Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	our noses have begun to rust

**Author's Note:**

> _they made a statue of us_  
>  _they made a statue of us_  
>  _our noses have begun to rust_  
>  {regina spektor // us}  
> 
> 
> Coda to "Everybody Loves a Clown".

Sam watches Dean smash the hell out of the Impala from behind a stack of decrepit-looking tires. He didn't mean to end up there, but he heard breaking glass and just dove for cover and well, he couldn't _not_ watch. Dean drops the crowbar and, after what seems like hours, walks towards the shack off in the opposite direction. Sam tentatively steps out and listens to the quiet that's filled the air now that Dean's not working on the car, interrupted only by his sneakers scraping too-loud across the ground. He reaches the car and touches the hole in the trunk; it's warm from the sun and rough from the crowbar, and he nearly cuts himself twice. It's at least a minute before Dean clears his throat and Sam realizes he's not alone.

"Sorry," he blurts out, willing his heart to slow down. He retracts his hand and walks back towards the house. He feels Dean's eyes following him until they don't anymore, and then he swallows, hard. He looks back with his hand on the doorknob and Dean is wiping his hands on an old oily rag, fiddling with a wrench or a pair of pliers or whatever the hell that is. He licks his lips and clicks the door open.

*

For the next week, whenever something goes wrong with the car--a piece falls out from underneath, or something explodes out of the hood, or a thousand other things that Sam can't even begin to imagine--Dean comes to Sam. He doesn't say anything, he just finds Sam wherever he is and sits or stands there until Sam decides to break the silence.

"Dean, you need to take a break," Sam always says. He knows it's futile, but he tries anyway.

"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean always responds, not looking up, spitting out Sam's name like it's acid.

The thing is, though, that he knows Dean like he knows the insides of his eyelids. He can taste the sorrow and the white-hot anger in the air. He feels it pressing on his chest, curling up in his toes, swirling in his stomach, and he's not sure what's coming from inside his own head and what's coming from somewhere else.

So he gives up trying to talk to Dean and just lets his brother be with him in the same room, and if nothing else, it makes him feel safe.

*

On the eighth day, Sam decides to make himself a TV dinner, reading a book on the Salem witch trials by fading sunlight as he waits for the oven to heat up. In a moment of distraction, he looks out the window and sees that Dean is still working on the damn car. He puts the book down and fumbles around in Bobby's fridge. He makes a ham sandwich, but there's no Swiss cheese to be found, so Dean's just going to have to deal. He goes outside, calls to Dean as he approaches. Dean whips around with a wrench raised in the air, and Sam involuntarily shields his face with his free hand.

Dropping his arm, Dean says, very calmly, "What d'you want, Sammy?"

Sam holds out the sandwich on a plate. "Made you dinner," he says.

"Oh. Thanks," Dean mumbles, and turns back to the car.

"It's getting dark," Sam says. "You should come in soon."

Dean only grunts in response.

By the time Sam gets back in the house, his dinner is burning. He sits in the next room and picks out edible from inedible, which he doesn't mind so much when he hears Dean's boots against the floor and a plate clink into the sink.


End file.
